


The Good Guys

by Rysler



Category: Batman (Comics), Batwoman (Comic), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rysler/pseuds/Rysler





	The Good Guys

"Ow, stop--" My head throbbed. I knew if I opened my eyes I'd see the anvil surrounding me, crushing my skull. I kept them closed. I'd been knocked out before. More times than I chose to remember. But gentle hands touched my face--

I'd felt that before, too. My eyes flew open. Pain lanced me. "Shit!"

"Hey, close your eyes."

I did. But I made note of the voice. A woman's voice. That was interesting. I could think. As long as I didn't move.

She tapped my pants pocket. So she'd looked in my wallet. "Officer Montoya. You got hit on the head pretty goddamn hard."

And I'm the detective. "Yeah."

"Do you know what hit you?"

A woman's voice, and young. My age, maybe. Or younger. Hard to tell when my eyes didn't work.

"I was chasing a purse snatcher. I mean, how many times do you see a purse snatcher? When you're just buying coffee and donuts, you know?"

I hadn't been that close, really. Up the street and half a block away. Out of uniform. I'd heard the shout of, "Stop, thief!" and then "Police!" and thought I might show up for once, just on a lark, see if I could beat whatever street vigilante had the daytime shift that day. Not hard to see the thief--twice my age, twice my size--running down the street. I ran after him, cornered him in a blind alley, and then whack! Something hit me from behind.

"They hit me from behind," I said.

"Who?" she asked.

"Hell if I know." I'm some detective.

"You're safe now."

As if I was safe, blind and wounded in some stranger's lair--I could smell leather and oil, and I could tell I was on a couch by the angle of my neck against the pillow--thanks a lot, lady--and the lumpiness under my legs. I stretched. My back popped. My head screamed. I decided to give into its bidding and go back to being unconscious. I relaxed. I could worry about escaping the lair later.

I heard her voice as I faded, from somewhere far away. "Strange that someone would someone would attempt even a petty crime in the daylight..."

Daylight. I pried open my eyes and forced them to focus. The eyes that met mine widened, but she couldn't duck fast enough for me not to see her. Red hair. Decent cheekbones.

I'd landed on the couch of Barbara fucking Gordon.

* * *

I'd last seen her a few months ago at the annual policeman/fireman softball tournament. The bosses mixed the teams to promote comradeship. Which meant my team had a shitty third baseman.

And when I was at bat, Commissioner Gordon was at the mound.

His daughter, Barbara, sat on the sidelines. We all peeked at her, this ravishing heir to the big man himself. Barely legal. I knew she was in college, but I didn't know which one. She sat on the bleachers, ready to cheer for daddy, when it was any of us that would fall on our swords for her.

The red hair was the signature, but there were other things to notice. Her long legs, crossing and uncrossing, bare in denim shorts. Her tan. Her smile.

Not that any of us had busted her or anything, not even for speeding, but we all knew she was trouble. She gave off a dangerous vibe. Today though, in short shorts with her hair in a ponytail under a GCPD ball cap, she was behaving herself. She and the commissioner did the normal father-daughter taunts. After the second inning she became part of the scenery. She became another voice shouting from the stands, like my own parents.

Except I kept stealing looks at her. A ball whizzed past my elbow.

"Hey, Montoya, stop looking at your girlfriend and focus on the ball!"

If they only knew. But Barbara pursed her lips and waved at me. Mockingly, maybe. But cutely.

I winked. I was going to hit the next ball out of the park, whether this guy was my boss or not.

Of course, I didn't.

* * *

"I know who you are," I said when I came to. My head ached dully and I knew I'd be a bit fuzzy, but I felt better. I'd interrogated women while feeling like crap before.

I learned all sorts of things about them.

"Of course you do," she said. She stood over me, in a tee shirt and jeans, but I knew. I knew what vigilante smelled like. If I squinted--my head swam, making me see things--there could be a mask creasing her face. Horned and molded.

I raised my eyebrows.

"I'm sure dad's got my picture in his office. And I know every cop, too. Good and bad."

I wondered which side I was on. That was like asking which side Batman was on. Probably not a question Barbara Gordon could answer. Not if I couldn't. We were probably too young, or whatever, compared to the assholes that bossed us around.

"Thanks for rescuing me," I said. "What were you doing there?"

"I was getting donuts too," she said.

"Small town."

She smiled.

"Why didn't you just call an ambulance?"

"Who says I didn't?"

I glanced around at the little room. Besides the couch, there was a coffee table made of cement blocks and a television. College chic. I got up. She stepped back to let me pass. In the hallway beyond, an open door showed an elaborate computer set up and in the shadows beyond the glow, more books than I'd seen in a library. I wondered where she kept her gear. Maybe in the food pantry.

"Hey, Renee?"

I turned around. No one called me Renee.

"Is it true? What they say about your reputation?"

I walked back to her, watched her expression tighten as my own did. I watched her turn to steel. I wanted to learn how to do that, too. I stood toe to toe with her.

"You know goddamn well it is."

"You should buy me dinner sometime." Her gaze didn't waver. "For saving you."

"I know a great little Italian place."

"I know how to pick a really good wine."

I smiled. "I bet you do. And we could have a little tiramisu..."

"Or we could just stay in--"

I inched closer as she talked, until I couldn't see her lips anymore. Just her eyes, the intense color I wanted to keep staring at. Her hand moved to the back of my neck.

"--Watch a movie," she said.

"I bet you have all the cable channels."

"Anything you want to watch."

I closed my eyes and let her pull me closer, until her breath was on my lips as she said, "I'm pretty good at getting what I want."

I wondered what it was like to know what to want, to know how to choose. Beyond the moment, of course. I didn't care about secrets. Right now all I wanted in the whole world was to watch the commissioner's daughter come undone.

END


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